Needing More
by aliencatt
Summary: Sam needs to tell Dean he is leaving. Dean needs to get him to stay. WINCEST
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Needing More

Sam needs to tell Dean he is leaving. Dean needs to get him to stay.

Chapter1

"Sam? Are you okay?" His brother had been sat there, pushing the food around his plate with a desultory hand, for the last twenty minutes. The fork scraped against the plate once more unnoticed as, head propped in hand, elbow on table, Sam did not seem to hear. Normally, Dean would have reached over and swatted him over the head, but there was something wrong. Sam had been quiet for a couple of days now. All of Dean's attempts to engage him in conversation, or anything else for that mater, had been met with avoidance, his eyes almost being unable to look at his older brother.

Reaching over, he surrounded his brother's hand with his own, stilling the relentless persecution of peas and sweet corn. Sam startled, his fork flicking cornels across the table. Relaxing back in his chair, but looking more like a defeat, Sam hunched in on himself. Dean refused to give up his grip on the hand now lax under his. "Sammy. Please talk to me."

Sam tried to smile at that, but it barely made it to his lips. He was so scared. He was scared of Dean finding out before he could tell him. He was scared of hurting Dean, and he knew that, once he told him, he would be hurt.

Getting up, dropping his brother's hand, Dean moved around the table and sat on the rickety wooden chair beside his, facing him. "What is it? Tell me," and placed his right hand on the nape of Sam's neck.

Sam had dreaded this. He knew he had to be the one to tell Dean and he selfishly hoped that Dean would be the one to tell their father. There was no sure way to do this. Whatever he said, however he said it, he knew Dean would be angry.

He lifted his head looking into the searching green eyes so close then, thinking he would weep for the concern there, he shook his head and looked down at his lap.

"Please, Sammy? Whatever it is, it can't be that bad. There's nothing so bad that the two of us together can't handle." Shaking him slightly by the nape, he added, "Nothing can get the better of the Winchester Bros'." Grinning close by his face even though Sam was not looking at him. "Nothing can stand up to that. Long as we stick together. Just like always."

Some things were very simple to Dean.

"Damn it, Dean!" jumping up from the chair, shrugging off his brother's comforting hand. He did not want comforting. He felt anger, at himself, as he knew he was about to break his brother's heart. And he was angry at Dean for being so damned…Dean! "Not like always. Not anymore. I'm leaving!" then froze at the sight of his brother's face as, anger, denial, grief, then back to anger, passed rapidly across the bronzed freckled face.

Sam had worried over and over how to tell his brother about Stanford. Rehearsed it over and over again. Then, he goes and throws it in his face like this, like it was all his brother's fault. It was no one's fault. Sam had to leave. He could not take this life anymore. If he stayed, he would end up hating his family and that could only end badly.

It was not going too well now.

"The fuck you are! What the fuck are you talking about? Leaving what, who? What the fuck are you talking about?" not raising his voice, but sat there so still, repeating himself, suddenly feeling cold as he realised the meaning of the words he had just heard.

If Dean had come at him, paced the room, broken something, done anything but just sit there looking up at him, looking so… scared, Sam could have kept some of that anger and it may have protected him from the pain he knew he was causing them both. But Dean just sat there waiting. "I've been accepted at Stanford University. I start in the fall."

"Which fall?"

"This fall."

"But it's August now! When were you planning on …going?" his voice getting quieter.

"Three weeks" his voice as quiet as Dean's.

"No!" disbelief.

"Yes." 'I'm so sorry' he silently added.

"No. You're not leaving us, Sammy. No way." Certainty making his voice louder, harsher.

"Yes. I am." Standing straighter. Anger he could deal with.

"You can't," sounding nothing like their father would at the news. It was not an order. It was a plea.

"I have to."

"Why? Why, Sammy? Why the hell would want to leave m…. us?" Dean had never seen this coming, would not have in a million years. They were a family, the three of them. It was all they had. It was enough. It was all they needed. It was everything.

Sam looked at him, his eyes pleading for his brother to understand that he had to go. He moved closer, coming back around the table, a hand held out towards him, hating the flinch away that Dean failed to cover. He held his ground and, taking a deep breath, lifted his head and spoke even as Dean turned his face from him.

"This is no life. I can't continue moving from one shit hole to another, constantly living out of a bag, out the back of the car. I need something more. I want something more. A home, a life, a career. Hell, even a wife and kids. I just want a normal life. Just want to be…"

'More'. The word swam inside Dean's skull. Sammy wanted more. They were not enough for him. He was not enough for him. He could not say anything, he could not feel anything other than a numbness starting in the pit of his stomach, spreading up through his intestines, growing, anesthetising all sensation. Sammy wanted more.

Dean slowly stood, hand pressed to the table for support like a man of seventy, and left the room, shoulders slumped, gait as one weighted by the shackles on a chain gang. He did not look back, would not, and could not hear the pleading in his brother's voice as he said just one more word to him. His name. "Dean."-----

It was mild for an August day in this New England town, but Dean would not have noticed six foot of snow as he was frozen already. He had walked from the small, peeling, clap board house, down the steps onto the hard, cracked pavement and just continued. He had no idea where he was or cared. All he could think about was that Sammy was leaving; leaving them, and leaving him.

He had to persuade him to stay. Somehow he had to get him to stay.

His first thought had been to pound some sense into his baby brother but he would not. He had never hit Sam like that. All the times growing up, when he could quite happily have throttled his annoying younger sibling, he had never hit him in anger or chastisement. Just as their father had never hit him. One look and a word from John Winchester was all the punishment he could take.

Oh sweet Lord, what was their Dad going to say?

What was he going to do?

Stop him, that was what. Dean looked up. Yeah, Dad would be able to put Sammy straight.

He looked around him, finally wondering where he was. A road. A narrow road, the blacktop cutting an ugly scar through trees covered in fantastically coloured autumn leaves. He held his face up to the sunlight beating down letting it warm his skin, warm him. He held his arms out, closing his eyes whilst drinking in the warmth, not realising that it was his unwavering conviction of his father's ability to solve everything that was, in fact, the fuel needed to thaw out the numbness.

Now, to go home. Back to Sammy. -----


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter2

Another week and Sam still had not dared to broach the subject to his father. Winchester senior had been back four days and had put himself and his sons through a rigorous training campaign. He had nearly been badly mauled on this last hunt and considered it a warning that they had all been negligent, sitting around and becoming soft.

Sam slowed to a halt, bending at the waist, hands on knees, breathing deep. "Come on Sammy! Can't stop now. Keep moving!"

"Yes, Sir," as his father ran passed and, slowly, he reluctantly resumed running. He would have thought with his legs he could outpace the old man, but no. And John did not believe in jogging, they were running. They had been, off and on, for three hours now, interspersed with push ups and squats. Sam had stopped admiring the beautiful canopy of the woodland two days ago. Now all he could do was curse the uneven ground, slick with dead leaves and roots hidden beneath ready to turn an ankle or trip the unwary.

It had been funny seeing Dean sprawled out as he ran past, but not now. Not a day later, when he could see the pain in his brother's face from running on an ankle he refused to admit hurt with each step. Sometimes Sam could not decide which was worse, the unconscious sadism of his father, or the unquestioning masochism of his brother. Whatever, it was a dynamic he had never really fit into.

What would it be like once he was gone? And he was going, no matter that Dean was completely ignoring the fact, was acting as if he had never said anything. He just prayed it would not become more pronounced. He would not be there to take some of the pressure from Dean, some of their father's attention. Because he had to leave.

He hoped that they could balance themselves out before they tore each other apart. But this was Dean and his father he was thinking about, not himself and John, who he could never really remember seeing eye to eye with. Dean said that, during puberty, a switch had been flicked inside Sammy, turning him from a sweet mindful kid to an ornery pain in the ass. He was probably right. Sam grinned to himself.

"Sam! Keep up!" and he loped after his father, catching up to Dean, seeing the look on his face, then the grin.

Dean realised what Sam was doing, and it made the pain a little easier to endure. John Winchester had not noticed his limp, or that he was failing to keep up with him. All their dad was focused on was Sam, who kept lagging behind. -----

"Why the hell didn't you say something?" shocked as Sam saw the state of Dean's ankle. He moved to kneel in front of his brother, reaching for the joint that was blue, black and swollen.

"Don't. It's alright." Pulling his leg back, not managing to hold in the grunt of pain as his foot caught the edge of the bed.

"The Hell it is!" gently but firmly, picking up the foot, one hand on the sole, the other around Dean's calf, and placed the foot on his thigh. "Why do you do this?" he asked sadly, but Dean said nothing, just clenched his teeth, going rigid under the touch.

Sam was as gentle as he could be, probing the ankle with determined fingers. "I don't think it's broken." But it was a mess.

"Course it's not broken. I've just run another ten miles. D'you think I could do that with a broken ankle?" grinning, he was good, but not that good.

"If Dad told you to? Yeah, you would." feeling his anger rise again.

"He wouldn't."

"Yes, he would, if it meant getting rid of another 'nasty'." noticing that Dean had not denied Sam's statement.

"You're wrong. And anyway that's what we do." 'just suck up the pain.' Dean heard his father's voice in his head.

"That's why I'm leaving. This, all this. What's the point?" he felt Dean tense up again under his hands but he had to keep telling him he was going, because he knew a Dean in denial when he saw it. He could spot it a mile off.

"How can you say that when you know?" looking straight over Sam's shoulder, wincing at the fingers on his abused flesh less than at the words.

"Know what? That you have to run on an ankle that's twisted, if not broken? Why? Just so you can go out and kill something or get killed? Is it worth all this damn pain?" his anger rising to the surface competing with sadness.

"Yes," spoken with conviction.

"What? Why, Dean? For revenge?" voice sceptical.

"No. Keeping you safe. That's why you can't go." stating the obvious as he saw it.

"Dean. I can look after myself." He was not a little kid.

"You don't have to." That was Dean's job.

"I don't need my 'big brother' to look after me any more." Spoken much angrier than he had intended.

Stunned, then, "But what if I do it because I want to?"

Sam looked up at that, looked at his face, into those eyes he knew he would lose ground in. Damn. He knelt up, carefully lifting the ankle from his thigh and placing it on the floor. Standing he mumbled, "Take your jeans off while I get some ice for that," and practically fled from the room.

Dean just stared after him. He suddenly felt as if the earth had reversed its axis. He was the one that usually fled from the merest hint of sentimentality, not Sammy. Not his brother Sammy, with his insistence on talking about everything.

Damn, his ankle hurt as he shifted, trying to stand, and then he relented, collapsing back to the bed and slowly undid his pants. He knew damn well Sam would not find any ice. The ancient refrigerator found it difficult not to let the milk spoil over night, never mind anything else. But whatever, he needed a shower. Dad insisted they ran in boots, jeans and jackets. No Lycra running gear for them, not even sweatpants. They had been let off easy today. No back pack.

He stifled the groan as the rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against his swollen foot. Damn! He was going to be laid up for days. Sam was right, he should not have run on it no matter how tight he had laced his boot.

Sam slammed the door to the refrigerator. There was nothing, not that he had really expected anything. It was not as if they did a weekly shop, filling the freezer compartment with bags of frozen vegetables, or anything for that matter. If it did not come in a tin or a bottle, it did not make it to their kitchen. Pondering, he got side tracked into wondering why the hell they all were not huge, due to all the take out they ate. All the fight training and running, he guessed, and that brought him back to Dean.

The look in those green eyes that had been watching over him all these years. He had always considered himself a chore to his brother but deep down, knew it was more than that, and seeing it in those eyes, he knew that Dean had not been lying, not just telling him what he thought Sam would want to hear. He had been telling the truth and his eyes had told him so much more. His breathing became shallow, quicker as his heart missed a beat. Could it be?

First aid kit, he decided as he shut down that train of thought. He was sure there was some sports spray in there. Casting around he saw it through the doorway one the table next to the TV. It looked like Dad was getting it ready, restocking. That meant he was expecting them to go on a road trip soon. His face tightened as he grabbed up the aerosol, bandage and bottle of painkillers. He strode back to the stairs, taking them two at a time, ready to lay into Dean about how he should not agree to go, but knowing that he would.

He froze in the doorway, seeing the pain on his brother's face as Dean pulled himself up the bed, not managing to keep his foot clear of the rough spread.

"Damn." John Winchester commented from behind Sam, moving into Dean's room still not fully dressed after his shower.

"It's not too bad. It'll be okay in a couple of days." Dean assured him.

Sam could have hit him. Why the hell did Dean have to be so damned… be such 'a good little soldier' as the old phrase popped into his head? "Here. I've got the spray." Moving quickly to intercede as their Dad was about to reach for the ankle.

Standing back, John commented, "Guess it's just you and me tomorrow, Sammy?" folding his arms, considering his eldest son. This was damned inconvenient. His research had come up with some interesting indicators that there was something strange going on over in Nebraska. He had planned to set off in two days but by the looks of it, Dean would be useless, and the thought of arguing with Sam for the six days he considered it would take did not appeal. Perhaps he would be better on his own?

Annoyed, he nodded at Dean. "Right. Rest up. Sam? I'm going out. Will you see to dinner? I'll be back about seven," and left the room not waiting for an answer.

"Sure. Of course. Whatever you say. Oh, you're not even here anymore. Bye then."

"Sammy!"

He looked at Dean in exasperation. Then 'looked' at Dean reclining against the headboard, and forgot his sarcasm aimed at the absent father. His brother was flushed, his hair still damp from the cross country run and Sam feared his colour was due to the discomfort he was in. They had had worse injuries before, but Dean had aggravated the ankle and now it was free from the boot it was swelling.

He moved to put his supplies on the bedside table, then went off to the bathroom, returning with a glass of water, handing it to his brother. Popping open the tub of pain killers, he shook out three, placing them in Dean's extended palm, snapping the container closed with a finality in answer to the unasked question in the green eyes about the amount.

Taking the emptied glass, he swapped it for the spray and bandage, dropping them in his brother's lap, earning swearwords, and he grinned as he lifted the bad ankle, then sitting, placed the calf across his thighs, Dean's other leg lying behind him.

Dean watched Sam's hands as they handled his foot and shin. Damn they were big, but gentle, and the moment his brother used the freezing spray, he felt so much better as the cold contrasted with heat from the damaged flesh. His brother looked at him as he could not help but hiss his breath until the numbness took effect. Sam did not speak but continued to tend to him.

Dean had closed his eyes by the time Sam wound the crepe bandage around and around the ankle and foot. Hopefully, it would give support and stop the continued swelling without constricting the blood flow. Taping the end closed, he just sat with his brother's leg resting across his lap, his hands on the shin.

Relaxing into the pillows, Dean enjoyed the feel off those gentle hands absently rubbing his leg, massaging up to his knee and back. His head fell to the side and he let a breath go. He was beginning to feel sleepy and hoped his brother had not overdosed him, but it was much more likely due to the exhaustion from the endless seeming run, and the relief of pain. The hand running up and down his thigh felt good and his other leg raised and, bending his knee, he let it flop against Sam's still back.

Running his palm lightly over Dean's thigh, Sam concentrated on the sensation of the darkly blond hairs tickling his skin as he ruffled them one way, then smoothed them back. He watched Dean's face from the corner of his eye. Seeing him relax, he let his hand travel a little higher with each pass. He was not oblivious to the knee resting against his back and as Dean licked his lips, as, eyes still closed, his head moved to the other side, Sam bit his own lip and let his hand run up and then lay on the pale inner thigh overlapping the edge of the black briefs.

Taking in then releasing a deep breath, Dean made no other movement, but he was so aware of that hand getting heavier on the top of his leg, the side just nudging against his prick. He opened his eyes narrowly and watched as he was watched, and Sam's thumb began to stroke backwards and forwards across his thigh as the little finger pressed against his prick. He licked his lips again then left them slightly parted. He was warm and comfortable, and Sammy was close. Sammy was here and he wanted him to stay. Sam's hand became heavier.

Dean opened his eyes, letting his head turn towards his brother, making it clear he knew that the hand was there, even if he did not entirely know what it was doing there. Sam also turned to look at him directly and Dean wondered if the licking of the bottom lip was conscious or not. He knew exactly what it would mean if a woman did it. Did it mean the same in men? He supposed it must. But if so, that meant that Sam was sexually attracted to him.

Suddenly he thought back to all those accidental slips of the hand and touches over the last few years during fight practice, goofing about and just in general. Maybe they had not been so accidental. He remembered all the mornings he had woken up with Sam curled up close behind him when Dad insisted on one motel room. He had always thought nothing of it. After all, Sam was a teenager and not the only one to wake up hard. Dean would just push him off before he awoke and think no more on it. Maybe he should have. He was thinking now.

Sam could hardly breathe. Dean's eyes were so bright in the evening light streaming through the curtainless window. No anger or questioning, but no desire either, just a kind of waiting and, possibly, acceptance. He shifted his hand slightly to the right, letting his fingers lightly graze his brother's prick confined by the black briefs.

Still no strong reaction, just shifting slightly, sliding down the cushions and lifting his leg, bending his knee and Sam's other hand encircled the thigh lifting it, as he moved a little loser, his right hand moving up to press against Dean's side. Settling once more, Sam's hip was now pressing against Dean's groin.

Being so careful of that ankle, Sam held the thigh firm over his own ensuring the foot was clear, not wanting to cause any pain. He wanted to make Dean forget any and all injuries. He somehow wanted to make up for all the hurts his brother had ever suffered, especially those caused by himself.

His hand pressed, running up over Dean's stomach and chest, rubbing through the grey t-shirt, sliding up to cup his jaw and cheek. He looked at that face, his eyes dropping from the now intense green gaze and, still cradling his face, Sam let his thumb brush over the open full bottom lip. Unknowingly biting at his own, he very gently ran his nail down that line in the centre of the lip.

Sam had dreamt of doing this, or something very like it, for the past couple of years, wanting to know what those lips felt like, what Dean's skin felt like. He had imagined so many times, running his hands up his arms, over his shoulders, down on to his back, following those freckles, chasing and finding every one on his body. Of pressing his face into his brother's neck and just stretching out, lying by his side as the strong arms held him tight.

Dean knew he should push his brother away, but he felt so comfortable, so warmed by him. He did not know how much he would allow his brother, had no idea if he would freak out at a 'touch too far', but did know he was charmed by the intensity with which he studied him. Sam had an expression of wonder, and Dean was never slow to appreciate admiration.

The nail lightly scraped the bottom edge of his lip and he could feel the pressure on his body as Sam slowly leaned into him more. The thumb moved, and he watched until he lost focus as Sam's face came closer and still watching his lips, his brother laid his against Dean's. Just a light press, his lips closing against the centre of Dean's bottom one, over that crease he knew he had there. Then another dry lipped nip, just to the side, then, fingers running up into his hair, Sam's mouth closed over his and he found himself tilting his head as he closed his own over Sam's top one.

It was so quiet in the room, Sam thought that he could hear the sound of their lips touching. The sound as they pulled apart and then he knew what it felt like to run the tip of his tongue over that line in Dean's bottom lip, what the inside of his top one tasted like, felt like. Letting his hand move around and his arm surround Dean's shoulders, he pulled him forwards whilst pressing against him. He was here, so solid against him. Not a dream. Not imagination. Solid, vital and alive _and,_ kissing him back.

He did not truly know what he was doing, only that he could not stop. The softness of Dean's lips a surprise, that he was tentatively closing those lips on his, amazing. Sam had never let his imagination have free rein. He had always stopped his mind from going where he knew he should not.

Now, as the reality of what they were doing, of what he was doing and his brother was allowing, intruded onto the feel of those lips. He pulled back, sitting up slightly, looking into Dean's questioning and confused gaze. Sam licked his lips tasting Dean there. He should leave. Leaning forwards, he pushed his face into his brother's neck, his lips against the soft skin below his ear, and let his weight relax against the sturdy figure. Still he held onto that thigh, cradling the leg over his hip, and let out a deep sigh as he felt Dean's arms encircle him, hold him close.

Dean wondered if he should say something, ask Sam what he was thinking. Sam seemed to snuggle against him and he just leant his cheek on the dark hair as Sam settled his head on Dean's shoulder. He was warm, comfortable and allowed the painkillers to work their magic as he began to drift off, holding Sammy in his arms. -----

"Sam? Dean? Boys? You in?" and they both jolted awake at the sound of their father calling from downstairs.

Sitting up, pushing his hair from his eyes, Sam looked around confused, until his eyes lit on the sleepy expression still on his brother's face. He smiled sheepishly at Dean as he untangled himself and, gently laying the damaged ankle on the bed, ran from the room.

Dean stretched his arms high then collapsed back down to listen to the angry voices coming from below. Damn it! They were arguing again. Over take out! Or rather the fact that Sammy had not gotten them anything to eat. He still found it incredible that the other two members of his family could find the most asinine things to yell about.

Struggling to his feet, sort of hopping to the top of the stairs Dean yelled down, "I'll do it." Meaning he would phone for food. It was not that hard for fuck sake!

"Stay where you are!"

"It's your brother's responsibility." Both yelled up at him.

It was only food. Dean had had enough of this. Maybe it was time Sammy left? He stood stock still. He could not believe he had even thought that. But he was just so tired of all the, damn, arguing. -----


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter3

"Dean? You awake?" speaking quietly as Sam leant around the door.

"Not really," as he had just been sinking into a doze, pleasantly propped up against every pillow and cushion Sam had gotten his hands on.

Sam moved into the room, closing the door behind him. Making his way to his brother's bed, he switched on the lamp on the bedside cabinet, his actions sure in the so familiar place.

"What's up?" Dean asked, but Sam just stood staring down at him then, lifting the covers, slid into the bed beside him. He did not say anything else, waiting to see what his brother would do now and found the longer, lean body pushed up against his side. Sam once more pushed his face into Dean's neck and leant on him, an arm across his waist and breath against his skin.

Dean shifted his arm, trapped beneath his brother and placed it around Sam's back, his hand on his side. He relaxed back thinking Sam had just come to sleep with him as he had the afternoon before. It had been nice, sending him back in time to when his brother used to crawl into his bed at night, having awoken from a dream and seeking him out for comfort.

Sam waited until his presence was accepted, then he simply rolled onto Dean.

Dean lay still as he found his brother's long form spread on him, his face now pushed into the left of his neck as Sam's hand forced its way under the waistband of his briefs and gently curled around his prick. Breath warm on his neck as Sam's open lips rested against his skin and his hips began to move, pushing his own prick against fabric and his hand within Dean's underwear.

"Sammy?" he asked quietly, his hand moving up his brother's side to clutch at his shoulder, shaking him, "What you doing?" biting his lips as his prick began to respond to the stimuli. His other hand twisted in the sheet by his side. There was no answer, his brother just pushed against him harder, his teeth nipping at the skin on Dean's neck.

He should push him off, he should grab that hand circling around his prick and pull it out of his underwear. Instead, he began to respond, pushing his hips up, pushing his prick into the encompassing grip.

Sam began to move faster, pushing his own prick harder, now rubbing against Dean's pelvis. His breathing was ragged, he was so turned on. Dean not only had not thrown him off, he was pushing up at him, the hand on his shoulder was gripping tight, flexing and tightening in time to Sam's movements.

"Sammy?"

Pulling up slightly to look into his brother's face, Sam begged onto his lips, "Please, Dean. Don't make me stop." And searched the green eyes, seeing confusion and something else. He kissed Dean then. Kissed him hard and climbed onto him more. His free hand slid behind his brother's head and cradled the skull as he lost his last inhibition and plunged his tongue in, forcing Dean's mouth open, wanting to taste every part of the warm orifice, to feel the textures, the smooth inner cheek, the strong neat teeth.

Dean found his own hands both clutching at Sam's back as he was enveloped by the kiss. Not the best kiss he had ever had but Sam's mouth was hot and so eager, sliding, clashing against his own. He found himself forced back further to the bed and, almost without volition, his knees bent as his thighs parted allowing his brother's frame to fit more securely along his. Sam was grinding against him. It was awkward but so damned, 'passionate.'

Sam gasped into his brother's mouth as he felt hands pulling at his underwear, trying to drag the boxers down. He stilled, lifting up just long enough for the fabric to be removed. His prick sprang against his belly at the release, and Dean was struggling to pull down his own briefs. Then, Sam felt Dean's flesh against his prick and Dean's lips move against his own, still held over his brother's mouth. "Together," Dean told him, "grab them together," certain he did not need to say what.

Sam's hand easily fit around both attentive pricks and he captured Dean's luscious mouth with his own once more as he experienced, for the first time, the sensation of his prick rubbing, sliding against another. Rubbing against Dean, the skin catching, tugging, pulling against each other, all surrounded by his hand as he rubbed it up and down the lengths, his breathing becoming desperate.

Dean could not breathe. He pushed his head to the side, his lips stretching as they dragged over Sam's jaw. He thrust up, his head going back on the pillow as he begged, "Harder, Sammy, please," and gasped as his brother complied.

Sam buried his face in Dean's neck, his forehead rubbing against his brother's hair as he did as he was told. He had to make Dean cum, had to get him begging for him, he had to make Dean want to do this with him again. Do more.

The hand around their pricks was rubbing quite harshly now and the elastic on Dean's briefs was pushing up behind his balls, rubbing against the highly sensitive spot. This was all so frantic and needy. Sam was almost sobbing against his neck. His hands did not know where to hold, so he ran one up into his brother's rich dark hair, the other grasping across the narrow back to hold onto a hip.

"Sammy, I..I can't.." and he was cumming, momentarily shocked that he had less control than his younger brother, then not giving a fuck as his balls emptied.

Sam had been desperate to wait for Dean and finally let himself go as he felt his brother shudder and convulse under him. His mouth open on the stretched neck and he unknowingly left his mark as his teeth bit down as, giving them a final couple of jerks, he too came, his spunk mixing with his partner's, his brother's, on their bellies and stomachs.

Collapsing against Dean, Sam licked his lips, swallowing, anxious now that Dean would hate him for what he had just done, for what he had just made him do. He could not relax, his eyes wide, staring across Dean's chest as he curled on him. He did not want to move, to leave the body beneath him in case it was to be the last time he was ever to feel the heart beat so rapid, so strong, beneath his ear. To be able to taste the other on his lips.

Dean stared up at the ceiling as Sam moved down his body to lay between his legs, head and shoulders on his chest. Fuck! What the fuck had he been thinking? He had just let his brother jerk them off together. This was bad. This was so wrong. But Sammy had obviously wanted it and, as he focused on the various unidentifiable stains on the dingy ceiling, realised that Sam must have wanted this for a while now.

And if Dean gave Sam what he wanted, gave him that 'more' he was looking for, would he stay? Would he find having sex with his older brother reason enough? If so, then Dean was willing. It was not as if this had been repulsive, or even a chore. He had gotten off just as Sammy had. It was a surprise. He had never harboured thoughts of this himself but he could do this, he could live with it. If it meant living with Sammy.

Sam finally relaxed as Dean's arms crossed over his back and fingers began to play with his hair. He pushed himself up, hand either side of Dean and looked down into that beautiful face now regarding him. Dean's expression did not change but somehow he seemed to be assuring him that it was okay, that he did not hate him and he was alright with this. He climbed off Dean and stretched out next to him, on his side, pushing tight against him. "I love you, Dean. I always have."

"I know, Sammy." His fingers still playing in his brother's hair, arm around his back.

It was enough, and Sam leant his head on Dean's chest once more and, closing his eyes, listened to the beating of his new lover's heart. -----


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter4

Dean stood at the sound of the two other Winchesters arriving back at the house. He could hear them arguing all the way up the drive and into the hall. He paled, guessing Sam must have told their father about Stanford.

"Leave Dean out of this! It has nothing to do with him. It's about me!" his brother's voice.

"Of course it has. We're a family."

"We're not a family. Not to you. We're just soldiers in this eternal crusade of yours." Their father could never stand to hear the truth when it contradicted his opinion. Especially if it came from the mouth of his youngest child. Sam walked away from the anger on his father's face, moving to the living room.

"Don't you _dare_ walk away from me!" John bellowed, striding after him.

Sam did come to a halt but it was at the sight of his brother limping towards them. "What are you doing up? You should be resting that ankle!" His anger still evident and not tempered by his brother's continued bullheadedness about the thing.

"Nonsense. If you don't walk on it, it'll stay swollen and take longer to heal. Walk it out." John instructed.

"Yes, Sir." Dean answered, ever the obedient son.

"Sit the hell down!" Sam shot at him, pointing to the couch and the foot rest he had set up for him that morning.

"Don't you contradict me, _boy!_" all Sam ever did these days was aggravate John. Maybe he should let him go to that damned college and good riddance to him?

"Why? Because you know best or you just can't stand for someone else to have an opinion?" swinging around and facing his father.

"About a sprained ankle?" John asked incredulous.

"About _anything_! And that ankle is a hell of a lot more than sprained!" pointing angrily at the offending appendage.

"Fine! Then you'll just have to pick up the slack for the next couple of weeks while your brother's out of action." said with finality. He had had enough and he turned to leave.

"I told you. I'm leaving for college next week." voice suddenly going cold, firm and final.

"And I told you, 'No!' You are _not_ leaving and _that's_ an end to it!" and then John strode from the room, deaf to his son's next words.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying for calm. Sighing, knowing the arguments had only just begun, he looked up and caught Dean's emotions written on his face just before he quickly closed them down from view. He wanted to move to him, to hold him and apologise over and over again for causing the pain he saw there but knew Dean well enough not to mention it or do anything to show that he had seen.

For that one, unguarded moment, Dean had looked like someone had just reached into his chest and ripped out his heart. His face had been so pained. No, not pained, Sam thought, bereft. Damn it. He had made everything ten times worse. It had been two days since he had first kissed his brother and had not mentioned his leaving since and now Dean had witnessed the tail end of the argument with his father that had lasted for over four miles.

Scrubbing at his face, he moved to Dean who was leaning against the door frame, favouring his right ankle while trying to deny it. "Come on. Let's get you sat and the weight off that ankle."

"I'm fine," his voice managing to sound angrier than his eyes, holding on firmer to the jamb, his fingers digging into the old soft wood, his knuckles gone white.

Did he know? Did Sam realise he had only done it to try to get him to stay? Well, not that. He had only allowed Sam to do as he wanted because he thought it would be enough to get him to stay. Sam had been the one to instigate the closeness and he could not deny he had felt something too. He would not have been able to go through with it if he had not, but it had not been enough obviously, because Sam was still intent on going to college.

On going away.

Leaving him.

Maybe he needed to do more, allow Sam more? Could he do it? Could he let his brother fuck him? He knew Sam wanted to. If he had let Sam have his way last night, they would already have crossed that line.

Dean looked over at him stood there, obviously wanting to come to him. To touch him. He wanted it too. He wanted Sam to touch him. To touch him, to hold him and never let go. They _were_ a family. They should stay together and if he could, he would hold him, hold on to him and hold him through sex, if family and love were not enough.

But what should he do? Should he just let Sam continue as they had and not stop him, letting it carry on 'naturally' or should he instigate it? Should he come on to Sammy?

No. Sam had been the instigator and Dean had reluctantly 'given in'. His brother was smart. That was a given. If Dean suddenly threw himself at him, he would know there was something wrong. He could tell Sam had felt guilty for using him after the first time, until Dean had finally convinced him he had nothing to be guilty about.

Decision made, he was willing to do anything to keep Sam, and how to go about it.

He pushed off from the doorjamb and headed, limping, into the living room and, not trying to conceal the pain, let Sam drape his arm over the broad shoulders and put his own arm around Dean's waist. Dean let his body lean on his brother's but, being Dean, had to make a comment, Sam would expect it. "Fine, 'nurse' me if you have to, but at least have a freaking shower. You stink, Dude."

Sam smiled, letting it take the edge off of his anger. But it would take a hell of a lot more to stop the resentment he could feel churning deep in his belly. That had been brewing for a couple of years now and he knew it would take as long, if not longer for it to fade. For the moment, the closeness of his brother distracted him. He leant a little to the side taking more of Dean's weight onto himself as they rounded the couch and he slowly lowered his brother down.

'Damn it! I'm not ninety,' Dean grumbled in his head but let Sam have his way in this, as well as what ever was to happen between them. He loved his brother, he always had. That was without question but the thought of a physical, nee, sexual relationship with him, had never crossed his mind. Not until he had felt that hand on the top of his thigh.

He could not deny that he enjoyed the attention, hell, he had relished the blow jobs, he was a man after all, but what he had enjoyed most, what he had taken away from the this last couple of days, was the intimacy.

Not just the sex act intimacy, but the closeness of his brother, the tenderness. That first soft touching of lips, that first tentative exploration of his body by those so large, yet so gentle hands, had done something to his heart. He thought that it had made it sing, swell with love and then thought, crap! He was turning in to a chick!

Fingers on his chin brought his face and attention back to his brother. "What?" as he realised Sam had been talking to him.

Sam smiled at the look on Dean's face, surprise, confusion and wondered where his mind had been. "I said, are you gonna come watch me as I take a shower?"

Why would he want to do that? But what he said was, "Nah. You'll be quicker if you know I'm waiting in bed for you." and grinned, cocking an eyebrow. Sam's face darkened and Dean recognised the look of lust and realised he felt a response deep in his belly. Sam wanted him, wanted him now and that could only be to the good because, if he could get him so wound up, essentially begging for him, then surely he would not be able to leave behind a sure thing?

Damn! Sam did not want to wait, either till after the shower, or till after he had gotten Dean up the stairs or even till their father was out of the way.

He had set his brother up on the couch instead of the chair because he had wanted to be able to sit beside him. Just sit there and maybe watch the TV or read, just be able to sit close to him. But now he was glad he had as he pushed at Dean's chest, not hard but firmly and, as his brother lay back, he went with him laying half on him and went for that spot beneath his ear, just behind his jaw.

Sam's hands were spread on his chest and Dean lifted his arms up to surround him as he turned his face to the side, arching his neck, giving him more room as those lips opened on his skin. Once more, Sam was sitting, twisted between his legs but this time kept his weight off him as those hands moved, rucking his t-shirt up, a bit at a time, until they were spread out against his skin.

Holding onto Dean's sides, feeling his ribs under his flesh, Sam nipped up the skin beneath his lips, pulling it, licking it with the tip of his tongue, then letting it go. Moving around under the jaw, he repeated again and again, moving down his throat, over the Adam's apple then back up to his jaw, rising up slightly, opening his eyes and watching as he licked that dint in his brother's chin.

Dean moaned unintentionally, those hands sliding around to his waist, moving down to hold and press against his sides, just over his hip bones as Sam raised himself up slightly and that tongue licked at his bottom lip. His own tongue licked out to cover the same place as Sam pulled back, then he leant down and licked it again smiling as he did it, as he caught Dean's tongue, then he was surging into his mouth.

No tentative exploration this time. Sam thrust into Dean's, so luscious mouth, chasing the heat, the smoothness, the pressure of those full lips against his own. His hands dug into his brother's flesh, possibly a little too hard as he moved beneath him, his hips pushing up against him. Damn, that was not helping.

Sam wanted to strip him and take him right here. He thought of those legs over his shoulders as Dean gasped, calling his name as he 'fed' off him and, when he was writhing, when his voice became incoherent, just as it had last night, he wanted to shift him, lift those legs higher as he knelt between the soft fleshy thighs and slowly, so slowly slide into him.

He pulled back, pulled off Dean's lips and sat up. Damn! Pushing himself to standing, Sam ran a hand over his face then looked down at his brother. He smiled weakly, then fled.

Breathless and stunned, Dean fought his way up to sitting, thinking, 'what the…?' and turned to see the back of Sam as he left the room. -----


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter5

After hearing their drunken father stumble to bed, Sam had quietly opened the door to Dean's room for the fourth night running. He had just stood there and, as Dean looked up at him, had made a show of stripping off his clothes. Dean for his part had thrown the bedclothes back revealing that he was clothed in nothing more than the bandage on his still painful ankle.

Sam had then done his damnedest to touch, kiss and caress every inch of skin on his brother's body. He had spent an eternity 'suckling' at his brother's nipples, having discovered how much of an effect it held on the elder sibling.

This time, Dean was convinced, Sam was not going to take no for an answer, he was going to fuck him. As Sam's, eager to learn mouth and throat, swallowed Dean's length, questing fingertips pushed at his anus. He bit his lips, wondering if this was that touch too far, if he was about to freak out, after all, this had never been on his 'to do list'. As Sam's throat constricted around his cock, Dean's hips thrust up and a spit slick finger broached his ring of muscle and slid into him.

Dean was helpless beneath the onslaught. His fingers griped the bed sheets tight, his knees pulling on his brother's shoulders as Sam knelt, right hand pulling on his inner thigh, his left spread out on his buttocks as that index finger began to slid in and out of him.

Unintelligible noises issued from Dean's lips as Sam gently forced another finger into the hot clutching channel. He knew his brother had never done this before and did not want to hurt him, so thought to stretch him now as he knew himself enough that once he was in a position to push his aching prick inside Dean's beautiful body, he just might not have the sense left to be careful. He had waited for this for so long.

Dean pushed up into Sam's mouth then found himself thrusting back onto those fingers that were rubbing, circling inside of him. Never had he felt the like before and no matter how 'straight' he thought himself to be, he could not deny the sensation. Then, not only were the fingers quickly removed, but the heat around his prick disappeared also. "No…" he found himself begging, trying to sit up.

Sam smiled, carefully removing the legs from his shoulders and he knelt up, looking down into the flushed face, "Dean. Turn over for me," spoken softly. His hands could not help but caress Dean's body as he awkwardly turned onto his front, having to lift his right leg over Sam's folded ones. Sam guided him into the position he had be fantasising about from the moment Dean had not pushed him away, had first let him touch him.

Dean found himself more or less in the recovery position and, as Sammy settled behind him, lifting Dean's bent leg and placing it on top of his own, his mind was reminded of a morning a couple of years ago that he had not thought about for a long time but had never forgotten.

He thought about that one time, when he had not pushed Sam away as he was dreaming through his morning wood, when he had just lain there not moving. Certain that Sam was still asleep, was indeed dreaming and unaware that he was gently rocking, thrusting his hard prick against the cleft in Dean's ass. A hand on his chest, pulling lightly, not so much pulling Dean backwards but more pulling Sam against him. Sam's mouth open on the back of his neck, small puffs of warm air in time to his thrusts.

A hitch, undecipherable mumbling and Dean had felt his brother's whole body clench then relax, leaving a slight dampness to the back of his briefs. Sam had rolled backwards off Dean, still asleep, while he just stared at the peeling wallpaper, struggling to understand why he had not pushed his brother off, why he had allowed this. It had had an effect on him but not one of arousal. He had not been 'turned on' or made hard himself, but his back had felt cold. He had realised he missed Sam's warmth immediately. That was why he had not pushed him away, it was the closeness. He had relished his brother's closeness.

But now he had to wonder, had Sam really been asleep? Because, here, now, they were practically in that same position.

Facing the other way, Sam was behind him and pushing him more onto his front, a hand guiding, lifting his right thigh as his brother's leg slid under his. Gently, Sam lifted Dean's leg further over his own, still so careful of that damaged ankle which seemed, at this point, to represent all that Sam thought was wrong with this life. Making sure he would not be putting any of his weight on that leg, Sam straddled the other straight leg, his prick pushing at, guided by his hand, then accepted by Dean's arsehole.

Dean tucked his head down as Sam's left arm forced its way under him to surround his shoulders, across his neck as he slowly slid into him. All that sensation at once, being filled, stretched, anchored down by Sam's weight, half on him. His brother's large right hand now holding his knee, keeping his leg balanced on his own.

Dean's left hand came up to grasp hold of Sam's upper arm, his right reaching back to grab at his brother but it was awkward and he just pulled it back to clutch at the bed next to him as he struggled to come to terms with what was happening to him. He was lying here and allowing his brother to slowly force his prick inside him. Into his ass!

If anyone had told him this would happen, that he would allow this, he would have decked them. Probably still would. Maybe he should have tried to do the blow job again? But that had just made his stomach roll as if he was about to throw up. He had tried, he really had.

Kissing down Sam's shuddering body had been fine, the skin soft under his lips, the flesh tasting good on his tongue but the closer he got, the more anxious he felt. Sucking at the scant dark hairs on his brother's belly had been okay, even with that prick catching at his chin, touching the side of his face. He had managed to kiss the side of the thing but as he attempted to let it past his lips, even with his eyes shut so tightly, he thought he would hurl.

Pulling off swiftly and throwing himself backwards onto the bed, he had almost pleaded with Sammy to forgive him. He just could not do it.

It was obvious Sam was disappointed but had assured him it was okay. As his brother had rolled on top of him, Dean had seen his lust barely held in check and he had snaked a hand down to grasp at that expectant prick before Sam could act. As he buried his face in Sam's, kissing him, giving him all he could of himself, he had jerked his brother off as he worked himself on top of him.

But would it have been better than this, this invasion? But at least now Sam could not see his face. Could not see the almost despair as the prick forced its way into him. As Sam took possession of him. He already had his soul, always had. Now he had his body too. He just prayed it was enough.

He let out a moan as Sam started to pull out of him. "Wait." He whispered, pleading.

"Am I hurting you?" anxious as it was the last thing Sam wanted to do.

"Just wait a minute. Okay?" this was the most alien thing he had ever felt. Sam was not hurting him exactly, but it was uncomfortable and he just needed a little time, a little patience. Fuck! He thought, Sam had shown very little of that. But this he could do. This was not like giving his brother a blow job. This was like everything else that had happened. This was Sam working Dean, fucking Dean. He would just have to lie here and take it without having to give. He could rationalise that. He was allowing Sam to take from him what he needed. He could not feel guilty over that. This was Sam's doing.

The feeling of Dean's ass contracting around his prick was making Sam breathless. Nothing had ever felt like this before. None of the girls he had been with had ever held his cock so tightly. It was a struggle not to move, not to push against the tightness, not to wallow in the sensation. He held Dean tighter, feeling him stiff and tense. He kissed his ear, licking at the smooth skin behind, breathing hotly over it, sucking up his earlobe, slavering it with the tip of his tongue.

Dean shivered and felt his body begin to relax. He did not know where Sam had learnt that, but he blessed whomever had taught him. He reached down and took hold of the hand on his knee, bringing it up to push it under his thigh, onto his prick. Sam seemed to smile while still licking at his neck, recapturing his earlobe as he took the 'hint' and curled his long fingers around Dean's, now, semi hard shaft. Just a few strokes and Dean indeed re-hardened and Sam began to move inside him.

As the constriction stopped its strangle hold on his prick, Sam began an exploratory gliding within the warm sateen walls of Dean's rectum. Each movement was a new sensation and Sam was soon forgetting about the possibility of hurting Dean and began to deepen his thrusts, each more forceful than the last.

Dean pushed his face into the mattress, his eyes tightly shut, his open mouth gasping into the sheet. His hands were clawed, one digging into Sam's biceps, one against his face. He thought he was beginning to panic. He could not get his breath. Every time he tried to breath in, the prick pushing into his ass, the weight of Sam pushing him into the bed, forced it back out immediately. His free hand grabbed at the arm across his throat pulling at it frantically.

Sam was working his prick in time to the thrusts into his body and he tried to concentrate on that, on the pleasure he should be receiving from that. He did not like this. No matter what he had said to himself, he did not want Sam doing this to him. He was trapped, confined. He had no control and feared he would suffocate. He was frightened that he was on the verge of freaking out and letting his brother know. He held it in. He held in the scream that he desperately wanted to release.

"Dean." That was all he could get out. Sam wanted to say to him how wonderful it felt to be inside him, how his body felt perfect under him, how he wanted to stay like this for eternity. Nothing, nothing real or imagined had ever prepared him for how glorious it felt to be pushing into Dean's body. To feel his heat against his own, engulfing his prick. His solid, beautifully sculpted, figure wrapped in his arm, surrounded by him, under him.

To be allowed such ingress, for his brother to give himself up in this way, to trust in Sam enough to be under his control like this. Sam would never be able to express just what it meant to him. He could describe how it felt for the hood of his prick to slid along the smooth, yielding wall of Dean's arse. He could describe how it felt to have the older man shuddering in his arms. He could even describe the aroma that was pure sex. But he would never be able to adequately put into words just what it all meant to him.

It was not going to last long. Sam could already feel the pressure building as his balls began to draw up. "Dean. Please, I can't." he wanted Dean to cum too. His hand on his prick quickening its pace made more difficult as Dean's leg moved higher, off his. With no little effort Sam retrieved his left arm from around Dean eliciting a grunt from the older brother as Sam's weight shifted.

Fuck! That was even worse. All of Sam's weight was pressing down on Dean's left leg, on his pelvis. He clutched at the bed as Sam pushed into him harder, faster, further. His own prick abandoned as Sam truly set to 'fucking' into him. He straightened his right leg out, managing to roll more onto his front. Sam stilled at his movement then he himself shifted so he was laying between Dean's now spread legs.

It was better, the pressure more even but Dean wanted this over now. He did not like anything about it. The prick pushing into him was doing nothing but making him feel weak and powerless, vulnerable and used. He sobbed into the mattress praying that Sam would think it a moan of pleasure and not realise the truth.

"Dean!" Sam called out as he came still pushing into his brother. His breath left him in a groan louder than the ones he could hear issuing from his brother muffled by the bed before he could hear nothing but the 'explosion' in his head at the completion. That was how he felt.

He fell down onto Dean's back, his hands leaving the bed to gently smooth up and down his brother's sides as he wallowed in the aftermath of the most intense orgasm he had ever had. Slowly letting himself slip from that tight enclosure, he moved slipping off Dean to lie along his side. He trailed his left hand into the centre of Dean's back and leaning on bent right arm studied his brother's face as he slowly recovered, his heart still pounding, his breaths gusting against Dean's ear.

Dean could not move. He could still feel the 'invasion' as he termed it and his pelvis felt somehow, bruised. Schooling his face he turned it to the right to look into the sated eyes of his brother. He wanted to cry. Ridiculous but he did. But the look of wonder and satisfaction on Sammy's face had him forcing a smile to his own. "Hey," he said simply still winded.

"Hey," Sam laughed in reply. He ducked forwards to kiss his temple. "You okay?" slight anxiousness entering his voice. This had been huge, unbelievably fantastic, not least that Dean had let it happen and he sure as hell wanted to do this again. He should have plucked up the courage to go for this months ago. A shadow passed over his face quickly hidden as he thought of how little time there was left.

"I'm fine," Dean lied.

Rubbing at the small of Dean's back, running slightly over his, in Sam's opinion, perfect butt he asked, "Did you cum?" he hoped so but he had been so enraptured with his own that he could not tell. Dean just snickered and he took that as a 'yes', grinning in response. He nuzzled against the side of his face before rolling over onto his back his arms above his head. "Dude. That was fucking awesome!" and laughed delightedly. "We _so_ have to do that again."

'Yeah, fucking awesome', Dean said sarcastically in his mind. Fuck! -----


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter6

Dean sat on an old block of concrete and stared off into space. There was nothing worth looking at in the backyard, a title too grandiose for the rubble strewn square at the back of the house surrounded by faded and broken wooden fencing. Slowly sipping his beer, he tried to think about nothing in particular.

The atmosphere at the 'dinner' table had been getting on his nerves. There was no arguing this time but their father had alternated between giving angry glares at Sam and, what he was convinced of, suspicious glances at himself. He had known that, as Sam and his father had run off into the woods this afternoon, they would not last more than a mile without fighting. Together they were just two ornery bears poking each other with sticks.

He had set off after them, walking slowly at first, picking up speed as his ankle did not rebel, just aching slightly. He needed to take his time and build up strength in the damaged appendage, according to Sam. He had tried to break into a jug then a slow run at one point but soon stopped. If he developed another limp he would never hear the end of it.

He had smiled at the intenseness of the concern Sam had shown for a twisted ankle, for him.

Sat here now, he just prayed that Sam would stay. He had given him everything he had and was, and surely in time he might even come to get pleasure from it. He would have to. Sam was not stupid and he would not be able to fool him for long.

But after last night he truly thought that someday soon he may come to enjoy having Sam fuck him. It had finally been okay. For the first time he had not had to turn his face away, hiding his grimace from Sam. And he did enjoy the attention, the lips on his skin, kisses and nips to his neck, his shoulders. Sam, he had to admit, did not stint on the 'foreplay'. That his brother had an intense desire to constantly 'taste' him had not gone unnoticed.

As lips and mouth trailed across his chest, down his body, he had closed his eyes and just concentrated on the sensations ignoring in his mind that it was indeed his brother. As that surprisingly talented mouth drew his prick inside, as he was treated to heat and suction and constriction, his head thrown back, he could envision anyone in his head and his brother would be none the wiser. He had to bite his lips constantly to stop from calling out. Sam was that good. He made him want to scream out as he came.

Only as he slowly returned back to himself, his body limp, his legs like lead, did he truly realise that Sam had his fingers worked deep into him. Looking up groggily at the face, framed by unruly brunette locks, he saw the desire, the love and the impatience. But as Sam had told him to turn over as he pulled those fingers from him, with a moan Dean had refused.

Quickly he had a hand on Sam's neck, pulling him forwards. "No," he had told him, "Kiss me. Keep kissing me." and he had pulled his brother close, down to him and Sam indeed kissed him and had kept kissing him. He kissed him as he pushed his seemingly insatiable prick into him. He kissed him as he moved in him, sliding, pushing rhythmically, gliding forwards and back over the same spot causing Dean to react as he never had before.

Dean had wrapped himself around his brother. His legs coming up high, crossing over his waist. His arms and hands clutching at his back. He lost himself in the kiss as he met Sam's rhythm. As he pushed up against him, pushed himself onto him.

Sam for his part had held him just as tight, repeatedly breaking the kiss to murmur his name onto lips wet and swollen. And when he raised up slightly to look into his eyes, Dean had seen just what this meant to his brother. For that instant, the awkwardness, discomfort and pain he had felt from Sam's first intrusion into his most intimate place was as nothing.

He knew with certainty that Sam loved him, loved fucking him and, unless Dean stopped him, would never give him up now. Since that first night, when Sam had climbed into his bed and placed his hand on him, there had been no more talk of leaving.

He turned his face up to the evening sun, closing his eyes and feeling more contentment than he had since before the 'announcement'. It was going to be okay. Sammy loved him, and got to 'be' with him whenever he wanted to. His brother would not leave him now.

The sound of the door banging closed roused him from his pleasant thoughts and another bottle of beer was dangled in front of his face. "Thanks," he said as Sam settled on the block beside of him.

"You okay?" Sam asked as he drank from his ice cold bottle of water, shaking the moisture off his fingers.

"Not bad," Dean answered with a grin, pressing the cold beer bottle against his forehead. It was warm out here, pleasantly so.

"Do you think Dad knows something?" asked quietly sounding tense.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "He knows lots of things," watching from the corner of his eye.

Sam rested his forearms on his knees, mirroring his brother but twisting his bottle around and around in his grip.

Seeing the worry, Dean nudged him with his shoulder, "No, Sam. He doesn't know. Don't think I'd still be breathing if he did." But he had wondered himself, the way the man kept glancing at him as if he was on the verge of saying something.

Sam sat back with nothing more to say. That was not true. There was a lot he wanted to say but kept his peace. He did not want to upset his brother as he sat there looking relaxed. It had obviously done Dean good to get out of the house for the afternoon. He could tell his older brother was beginning to go 'stir crazy'. They had been out in the car, the day before, but Sam had refused to let Dean drive.

They had not been anywhere in particular or even done much, but Sam had wanted the chance, possibly the last, to take the Impala out into the country, touring around the fields on the outskirts of town. And best of all, Dean had not flinched or batted him off as Sam had put his hand high on his thigh even though they were out in 'public'. Dean had even covered it with his own and not pulled away as they had gotten back into town.

Until Sam stalled the Chevy as he forgot to change gear.

For that he got a slap on his own thigh and a, "Hands on the wheel, buddy." But Dean had been grinning and in turn placed his hand on Sam's leg, slowly rubbing the sting away. Sam's heart had gladdened.

But it was all too late. He wanted to ask his brother again if he would come with him. Leave the dangerous and thankless life of a hunter and move to Palo Alto with him. But he knew he never would. Dean would not give up the life and would not abandon their father.

Sam wished Dean did not idolise John Winchester so much. That he was not so willing to follow the man anywhere, constantly striving for his recognition and approval. He wished he was a little more like himself.

But then again, the way Dean was, was the very thing that made Sam love him so much. He was loyal, faithful and vengefully protective of those he loved in return. Sam recognised that Dean would do anything for both him and their father. Of course he would. He was allowing his younger brother to fuck him just because that younger brother wanted to.

He could not ask him to chose between them. Not so much worried about not being the chosen one, but Sam knew with certainty that forcing his brother to chose would tear him apart. He had already asked and received far too much of the man, he could not be responsible for that too.

Enjoying the rare calmness, Sam slouched down and let his head lie on Dean's shoulder, looking off at a future alone.

Dean continued watching nothing whilst taking the occasional drink. With his brother still at his side where he belonged, he was feeling just fine. ------

Dean awoke slowly to fingers smoothing through his hair. Opening his eyes he smiled sleepily into Sam's.

He had expected his brother much sooner, not long after he had turned in, leaving the light on as Sam 'always' wanted the light on. "Hey," he said, affection warming his voice. Sam was looking at him intensely, kneeling by the side of the bed. His brow creased as he started to sit up, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," and Sam gently stopped him from rising. "Just looking at you. You're beautiful. You know that don't you?" and he gave him a smile that belonged to a much more mature face than an eighteen year old's.

"Don't you mean, ruggedly handsome?" grinning, waggling his eyebrows, trying to lighten the mood.

Sam smiled again shaking his head. "No," he said softly then repeated, "Beautiful."

And damned if Dean did not feel himself blush.

"May I join you?" and Dean almost laughed out loud but could not at that longing, loving expression. Sam had never actually asked before.

"Yes," was all he said, equally low and then there were many words uttered but few coherently.

"I love you, Sammy." Spoken low as if scared, scared to reveal such an intimacy, yet Sam could hear so much yearning in the few simple but important words.

"I know you do," breathed into his ear. Sam felt so bad then. Holding on tightly, he pushed his face into his brother's short hair. His fingers bit into the flesh of Dean's shoulder and arm hard enough to leave bruises. Dean moaned and pushed up and back against him, onto him.

Sam knew that he was only 'allowing' him to do this. Dean did not crave the contact, did not yearn for his brother's body as Sam did. It made Sam sob against the warm hair. It just made him love his older brother even more. Dean was giving Sam what he knew he wanted, had wanted for almost as long as he could remember wanting anything. Sam was not fool enough to believe that this is what Dean needed. Dean did not need his brother to make love to him, to bury himself deep inside.

Dean needed, wanted him to stay. But Sam could not, would not, even now.

Sam knew that if he did, he would end up using Dean. More, he would end up abusing him, because he would slowly come to blame him for all that was wrong with this life, for depriving Sam of the life he wanted. He loved Dean far too much to do that.

His silent tears were soaked up by Dean's hair as that brother moaned out his name beneath him. ------

"You're still leaving?" astonishment and disbelief in Dean's voice.

"Yes," sadness in Sam's, his eyes begging his brother to understand.

"You, _Bastard!_"

"Please, Dean." Reaching out a hand in supplication.

"Don't fucking touch me!" pulling his arm away as he took a step back, almost staggering.

"I'm so sorry." his hand dropping to his side. He knew then that Dean would never understand, would perhaps never forgive him.

"How? How can you leave me, now?" tears in his eyes as he held himself hard, fingers clutching at his upper arms.

"Come with me," Sam asked one final, desperate time, but he knew he never would.

Dean just laughed, but there was no humour in it, although the whole thing was a fucking joke. Sam had come to him and Dean had welcomed him. Sam had wanted and Dean had given himself, had let him fuck him. Had let him invade his body, push inside of him repeatedly, over and over these last few days and still the bastard was leaving. Dean had given up everything he was to his brother and that brother had taken it all and still it was not enough to make him want to stay.

"Get the fuck away from me," his voice quieting as he turned his face away.

"Dean!" pleading, begging, not willing to admit that this was over. That he had lost Dean.

"And you can walk. Don't think I'm going to help you leave. You can get the fucking bus." And he could not bare to look at his brother again. Dean Winchester ran up the stairs, the sound of his bedroom door slamming the final note in this parting scene taking place in the unloved stark hallway.

Sam unwillingly turned to the furious visage of his father. "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back!" and John Winchester turned on his heal, turning his back on his youngest son and walked away.

The sound of the door closing behind Sam was soft as he held onto it, his head leaning against the peeling paint as he asked himself, one last time, if he was doing the right thing.

The walk to the bus depot took less than twenty minutes, but it was the longest walk Sam Winchester had ever taken. -----------

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End file.
